Founded in 1888 Amsterdam’s Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra has
had a long and distinguished relationship with the music of Gustav
Mahler. Chief conductor Willem Mengelberg first met the composer in
1902 and invited him to give the Dutch premieres of several of his
symphonies. By all accounts it was a close and fruitful relationship,
and one that set in train more than a century of ground-breaking Mahler
performances; there was the famous Mahler Festival of 1920, and after
Mengelberg’s controversial downfall in 1945 it was left to Eduard
van Beinum and Bernard Haitink - chief conductors from 1945 to 1959
and 1961 to 1988 respectively - to continue this fine tradition.

Since then the Concertgebouw has been led by a number of notable Mahlerians,
Riccardo Chailly - their chief conductor from 1988 to 2004 - among
them. As for Haitink’s 1960s Mahler recordings they’re
pioneering efforts and must be celebrated; Chailly’s Decca box
is more variable, although he has since made amends with a splendid
Gewandhaus Resurrection on Blu-ray/DVD (review).
Mariss Jansons, the orchestra’s chief conductor since 2004,
has yet to persuade me of his Mahlerian credentials. Yes, he has directed
a very good Second in Oslo (Chandos) but his more recent SACDs for
RCO Live don’t always challenge the best in the catalogue.

The real selling point of these handsomely packaged and funkily designed
RCO Live Blu-rays and DVDs is that the symphonies are farmed out to
several conductors. Jansons has the plums - the Second, Third and
Eighth - while the rest are taken by baton-wavers with at least something
of a track record in Mahler. Daniel Harding’s Vienna Mahler
Tenth for DG certainly impressed Anne Ozorio (review)
and Daniele Gatti has recorded a much-lauded Fifth for Conifer. Eliahu
Inbal, Lorin Maazel and Pierre Boulez need no introduction when it
comes to this repertoire, although Fabio Luisi is only known to me
for his incomplete Strauss cycle for Sony. Surprisingly, the latter
gets two bites of the cherry, with performances of Totenfeier
- the basis for the first movement of the Second symphony - and Das
Lied von der Erde.

Actually this set has another advantage; at the time of writing it’s
the only complete Mahler cycle on Blu-ray. Claudio Abbado’s
Lucerne performances are split between Euroarts and Accentus; Euroarts’
box of the first seven symphonies and the Rückert Lieder
- individual issues were blighted by technical problems - was well
received by Dave Billinge (review).
The Accentus Ninth has since appeared separately, with the Eighth
and Das Lied von der Erde still awaited. As Abbado has never
embraced Deryck Cooke’s - or anyone else’s - performing
version of the Tenth all we can expect from him is the usual stand-alone
Adagio.

As it happens, Harding - who conducts the First symphony -
was hired as Abbado’s assistant at the Berliner Philharmoniker
after holding a similar post with Simon Rattle and the CBSO. He is
also music director of the Mahler Chamber Orchestra, formed in 1997
by Abbado and a group of musicians from the Gustav Mahler Youth Orchestra.
All of which augurs well for this opening concert, as does the ear-pricking
loveliness at the start. Harding, with score but sans baton,
has a florid style of conducting that, alas, soon manifests itself
in a very beautiful but somewhat mannered reading of this symphony.

Articulation is not terribly crisp and, like compatriot Jonathan Nott
in the same work, Harding has an irritating habit of parenthesising
phrases. By contrast, Klaus Tennstedt - in his live BBC Legends recording
- finds a seamless urgency here that translates into a uniquely gripping
performance (review).
Harding is just too self-indulgent, with the result that momentum
falters and ensemble is often less than tidy. The delectable Ländler
in the second movement aren’t very well sprung either, and that
ghostly Frère Jacques tune in the third is curiously
po-faced. As for the finale it’s just too fitful; and while
climaxes are undeniably thrilling the lack of structural cohesion
and cumulative tension makes for a very unconvincing performance.

Despite all those promising signs this is an underwhelming First.
On this occasion at least Harding doesn’t have a penetrating
view of this piece; like Narcissus gazing into the pool, he seems
mesmerised by its outward beauty rather than fully engaged with its
inner shifts and subtleties. I suppose one could characterise this
as a generalised reading, whose lack of shape and focus isn’t
helped by some hesitant camerawork and a tubby sound familiar from
some of RCO Live’s SACDs. On the evidence of this performance
- greeted with enthusiasm in the hall by the way - I can understand
why Harding is a polarising figure; that said, he’s only in
his 30s, so perhaps his best Mahler is yet to come.

Jansons’ performance of the Second symphony - which uses
an edition by Austrian musicologist Renate Stark-Voit and Mahler conductor/devotee
Gilbert Kaplan - is everything Harding’s First is not. He directs
a taut, nicely scaled reading of the first movement; tempo relationships
are well judged, the playing combines refinement with terrific attack
and, perhaps most important, there’s a strong feeling that Jansons
understands the work’s architecture. The burnished woodwinds
and silken strings are simply gorgeous, and the bass drum has enormous
impact in those eruptive tuttis.

The precision and point of the Ländler-driven Andante
is a joy to hear; the orchestra sound supremely elegant, and they
play with a breath-taking transparency that brings out every nudge
and nuance of this miraculous score. In the past I’ve felt Jansons
micro-manages too much, which gets in the way of spontaneity and lift.
That certainly isn’t the case here; indeed, I’d say this
must be one of the loveliest, most naturally phrased accounts of this
movement I’ve heard in a long time. The weird, wall-eyed Scherzo
is no less engaging; rhythms are always supple and that pivotal trumpet-
and harp-led tune sings out most beautifully.

In the presence of such unwavering musicianship one is inclined to
agree with those Gramophone critics who declared the Concertgebouw
the finest orchestra in the world. As for mezzo Bernarda Fink she
gives a radiant account of ‘Urlicht’, although diction
is sacrificed to her pure, seamless line. The long, taxing finale
is unerringly paced and Jansons ensures it builds implacably to a
light-drenched close. The off-stage brass are suitably distant and
the choirs sing well, albeit with a rather soft grain. I was a little
disconcerted by what sounds like unguarded vocalising from the conductor
at the first appearance of the Resurrection motif and early in ‘O
glaube’. Minor quibbles really. Jansons’ Mahler 2 isn’t
as consistently satisfying - or as sumptuously recorded - as Chailly’s
from Leipzig, but it’s still a very compelling account. See
also David McConnell’s review
of the Unitel DVD.

For many Abbado leads the field in Mahler’s Third symphony;
on CD his Vienna and Berlin performances are long-time favourites
of mine, and his Lucerne Blu-ray/DVD doesn’t disappoint either.
Now rustic, now lofty, inward and exultant, this sprawling work reveals
Mahler at his genial, open-hearted best; the highly disciplined start
to Jansons’ account - a brace of horns to the fore - captures
the exuberance of the piece, but the downside is that such precision
robs the music of much of its bucolic charm. Also, those accustomed
to the easy efflorescence of Abbado’s performances may find
Jansons’ fractional hesitations a tad off-putting.

The playing is superb and the dynamics of this recording are very
impressive, but try as I might I just could not engage with Jansons’
curiously under-characterised reading of the first movement. Kräftig,
Entschieden it most certainly is, but where is the light and shade,
the sharp wit and grinning parody? As for the Tempo di Menuetto
it does dance, albeit with stiff joints. Such rhythmic inflexibility
and a tendency to swoop and swoon are not what this fleeting, diaphanous
music needs; true, the RCO give us a masterclass in orchestral virtuosity,
but that’s simply not enough.

The Scherzo is problematic too; the posthorn is very distant,
and instead of agogic pauses Jansons encourages a self-indulgent,
soupy sound that doesn’t appeal to me at all. One only has to
listen to Abbado to hear how a ‘straight’, unsentimental
approach brings out the hushed intensity of this wistful dialogue.
As expected, Jansons’ troops respond to those crunching tuttis
with all the ferocity they can muster. Jansons also emphasises the
martial quality of much of Mahler’s brass writing, to thrilling
effect. What a pity there aren’t more of these telling touches,
which could so easily turn a good performance into a great one.

Bernarda Fink’s ‘O Mensch!’ is beautifully sung,
although her soft-edged delivery masks her consonants. As for Jansons,
he verges on expressive overload here; this tends to happen when Mahler’s
scoring is at its most transparent and demands the lightest touch.
That said, the choirs sing well enough, but some may feel that Jansons
exaggerates the dynamics somewhat. Indeed, the recording is a little
too ‘hi-fi’ at times - the bass drum has an overpowering,
Telarc-like presence - and perspectives aren’t always entirely
natural. Still, I doubt that matters too much in the light of such
committed playing.

The long, unfurling finale can make or break a performance of the
Third. It doesn’t in this case; Abbado may sustain the natural
rise and fall of this movement better than most, but from that mighty
cymbal clash onwards Jansons and the RCO unleash an exultant surge
of sound that’s as hair-raising as you’ll hear anywhere.
What a splendid end to an otherwise uneven performance. Given that
Jansons and his Dutch band have such a remarkable rapport - they play
for him with a unanimity and passion that I don’t hear with
Harding - it seems almost perverse to grumble about this detail or
that. But that’s what reviewers do; so while Jansons’
Mahler 3 has its moments it doesn’t really rival the best in
the catalogue, either on audio or video.

Iván Fischer, the Budapest Festival Orchestra and Miah Persson
featured in an SACD of Mahler’s Fourth symphony that
Leslie Wright claims ‘is the one to beat’ (review).
As I’ve not warmed to Fischer’s Mahler thus far I wondered
if this live RCO account would make a difference. The first movement,
very well paced and articulated, has wit and warmth, and its contrasting
sections dovetail most beautifully. Fischer, sans score, clearly
has the measure of this effervescent work; indeed, he reveals a range
of subtle colours and sonorities in the gorgeous, sun-dappled opening
scene that one rarely hears in the concert hall, let alone in a recording.

The Scherzo is lithe and lovely, and Death’s Fiddle sounds
more beguiling than ever. It’s a strange mix, to which the punctuating
horn adds a plaintive charm. Fischer is extraordinarily communicative,
and his expressive eyes and hands make plain what he wants from his
players. He allows himself a little smile after that genial and uplifting
display; in turn, the RCO seem intent on rediscovering the delights
of this oft-played score. The third movement is a model of natural
phrasing and fine dynamic control; the orchestra play with rapt intensity,
their unguarded expressions of wonderment ample proof that this is
a performance of unusual insight and stature.

Can it get any better? Oh, yes. My first reaction to Miah Persson
in the child-heaven finale was consonants at last! Her winning blend
of accuracy, animation and essential artlessness makes for an ideal
rendition of this Wunderhorn song. Goodness, the sheer dynamism of
her singing makes many of her rivals seem sphinx-like. Fischer, alert
as ever, coaxes radiant sounds from his players. This is music of
pure innocence, and I have never heard it so beautifully done. The
profound spell is left to linger at the close, before being broken
by a storm of applause and roars of approbation. This inspired and
deeply moving account of the Fourth must surely rank high on the list
of transcendent Mahler performances heard in this hall over the past
100 years. Yes, it really is that good.

After a paradigm-shifting Fourth comes an earth-shaking Fifth.
From its terrifying, seismic first bars Daniele Gatti and the RCO
give a trenchant and propulsive account of this forbidding symphony.
This Trauermarsch is every bit as gripping as Abbado’s
(review),
and its moments of inwardness and illumination are as cosseting as
the big tuttis are fearsome. Gatti’s is a hard-driven Fifth,
yet remarkably the first two movements never seem unremittingly so.
The engineers have surpassed themselves too, capturing the thrill
of this great orchestra in full flood.

Anyone hoping for some light relief in the Scherzo will be
disappointed, for Gatti is in no mood for levity. Indeed, the wells
of darkness here are bottomless, and I can’t remember being
so profoundly disturbed by this music as I was here. The RCO never
let up either; in that sense they’re very much like the Lucerners,
whose playing for Abbado in this symphony is almost superhuman. As
for Gatti’s Adagietto, it couldn’t be further from
a dewy-eyed interlude. Darkly eloquent - stoic even - Gatti’s
view of this love music is as unsentimental as it could possibly be
without ever seeming curt or dismissive.

Gatti doesn’t dawdle in the Rondo-Finale either, and
while Abbado is more spacious both leave one gasping at the close.
If anything Gatti slams the door on this symphony more emphatically
than most. As with Fischer’s Fourth, the applause is enthusiastic.
Theirs may be two very different performances, but they have one thing
in common: in an age of numbing ubiquity they offer thoughtful and
very individual takes on these oft-played scores.

The Sixth symphony is conducted by Lorin Maazel, a maestro
who often gets tepid reviews from critics - on this side of the Atlantic
at least. I have positive memories of his Royal Albert Hall Mahler
8 from about 1980, and his Blu-ray of Wagner’s Ring without
words evinces a sure grasp of large structures and a good ear
for orchestral balance, both essential in Mahler. Older readers will
remember his CBS Mahler cycle, which yielded a particularly fine Fourth.
And for those who fret about these things, he opts for Scherzo - Andante
in the Sixth.

For a conductor who’s often accused of being aloof Maazel finds
a warmth - what some might call a humanity - in the first movement
of this Sixth that reminds me so much of Abbado’s Chicago recording
for DG. Those repeated rhythms - apt to chug - are nicely done, and
Maazel shapes the music well. That said, he’s not as characterful
as some - Pierre Boulez and the Wiener Philharmoniker on DG are peerless
in this regard - although that’s hardly a deal-breaker when
so much else goes right. As ever, the RCO sound utterly committed,
and the recording is as good as anything I’ve heard thus far.

Maazel’s Scherzo is rather subdued, and its curious low
and bleat is underplayed. Ditto those Altväterisch episodes.
Rhythms aren’t always that supple either, and while this is
a perfectly decent performance it sounds a tad routine at times. I
also had some misgivings about the plush Andante which, although
it has a strong pulse, has a rather soft edge. Still, Maazel builds
tension superbly and he gives the music terrific sweep later on. It’s
also good to actually hear the celesta playing its part at
the ear-pricking close. Perhaps most important, the movement ends
on tenterhooks, and that sharpens the sense of impending cataclysm
- and makes a good case for placing the Andante just before
the Finale.

There’s certainly an expectant buzz in the hall at this point,
a mental tightening of seat belts as it were ... and what a ride it
is. Normally urbane and unflappable, Maazel gives a hugely theatrical
reading of the last movement that leaves one emotionally spent; and
that’s as it should be, for this is one of the most wrenching
finales in all Mahler. That sense of theatre extends to the hammer-blows
- two of them - the mallet in the second rising like an executioner’s
axe before it falls. As with Fischer’s Fourth, one senses the
orchestra are gripped by the titanic drama unfolding around them.
The audience - who appear to hold this octogenerian conductor in high
esteem - respond with thunderous applause; and that’s also as
it should be, for if this were Maazel’s last performance on
earth it would be a splendid send-off. Bravo, maestro!

After a pause to collect my thoughts and regain my composure I plunged
straight into Pierre Boulez’s account of the Seventh
symphony. Critics and collectors are divided about the virtues of
his CBS and DG Mahler recordings, although that unforgettable WP Sixth
is probably one of the best things he’s ever done - period.
I was much less impressed by his DG Seventh, so I hoped he would atone
for that with this RCO Live performance. First impressions aren’t
entirely favourable, as Boulez directs an ultra-lucid reading of the
first movement; textures are clarified, rhythms are razor-sharp and
leading edges are strongly defined. It’s so terribly metrical
- almost dogged - and I don’t sense either the unsmiling maestro
or his players are having a good time.

Alas, this is Boulez at his most detached and dispiriting; no it isn’t
Notations, it’s Mahler, and a more yielding, less didactic
approach wouldn’t go amiss here. As for the things-that-go-bump-in-the-nacht
they’re humourless as well. I can’t recall a less communicative
account of this quirky, elliptical score; the Scherzo simply
refuses to gel and I longed for the affection and bounce that Abbado
and his Lucerne players find in this music (review).
As if that weren’t disappointment enough Boulez gives us a finale
of unimaginable dreariness. Eyes on the score he looks as if he’d
rather be somewhere else; frankly, if I were in the audience I’d
have wished the same. Simply dreadful.

Jansons returns with the Eighth symphony; of the two versions
I’ve seen on Blu-ray - from Chailly and Dudamel - the latter’s
Bolivar/LAPO account is by far the more successful (review).
Well controlled yet brimming with vitality it’s a performance
that confirms Dudamel as a fast-maturing maestro whose charisma and
talent might just take him to Berlin in 2018. Back to the present,
and loading the Jansons disc I realised - belatedly - that these RCO
Blu-rays have no subtitles. Really, that’s a lamentable oversight
which, added to the lack of printed notes, is surprising in a premium-priced
product such as this.

What of the performance though? Vocally it’s a strong cast,
and seeing all those choirs, players and soloists on the stage certainly
sets the pulse racing. Seconds into the opening hymn and it’s
clear this is going to be an Eighth to remember. The organ is powerful
without being overwhelming, the choruses are transported in the big
tuttis and Jansons brings a thrust and urgency to the proceedings
that I haven’t heard since Solti. Goodness, this is a fine performance,
and I defy you not to be swept along by this mighty maelstrom. The
well-matched soloists - dominated by the familiar tones of Christine
Brewer and the unfamiliar but commanding ones of Stefan Kocán
- are generally excellent; as for the huge dynamic swings of Part
I they’re captured in sound of considerable weight and splendour.

The promising buds of Jansons’ RCO Second bloom most beautifully
in the Eighth; nowhere is that more evident than in the myth-laden
landscapes of Part II. He paces the music consistently - no odd pauses
- and he allows it to breathe; also, there’s a warm glow to
the playing that can’t fail to please. Longueurs there
are none, and the soloists - with the exception of tenor Robert Dean
Smith - are very robust indeed. The clear, crisp singing of the choirs
is particularly welcome, and the closing minutes of this performance
are stupendous. Despite a brief wobble in the final seconds - a rare
lapse of concentration, perhaps - the organ is very convincing. The
rapturous reception and standing ovation are richly deserved, but
it’s Jansons’ return to the podium that really raises
the roof.

Given Bernard Haitink’s role in the Mahler renaissance that
took hold in the 1960s it’s entirely right that he conducts
this crowning Ninth. I must confess, though, that for all his
advocacy and manifold strengths in this music I never quite understood
why his Philips recording of the Ninth was so highly regarded. For
me at least there are many fine versions that dig deeper, and do justice
to this complex and profoundly moving work. Perhaps age - mine, not
Haitink’s - and the palpable sense of occasion afforded by this
RCO concert would make all the difference.

There are few composers as nakedly autobiographical in their music
as Mahler, but even then I’m cautious about reading too much
into the notes. That said, there’s little doubt the Ninth is
a life distilled, a procession of rememberings and regrets played
out in score of aching loveliness and quiet introspection. Alongside
Bernstein - in his last and most extreme account on DG - Haitink is
plainer and more purposeful. There are no added histrionics, and that
allows the symphony to unfold with a simple eloquence that’s
deeply affecting. Indeed, the systolic beats of the timps, the stopp’d
trombones and those wistful horns in the Andantecomodo
have a poignancy I don’t remember from Haitink’s Philips
disc.

This is a Mahler Ninth - like Haitink’s LSO Alpensinfonie
- viewed from the summit of a long and distinguished conducting career.
It needs no gimmicks or intervention, and a more revelatory account
of the second movement would be hard to imagine. In the face of tribulations
to come these trills speak of ease and contentment; the RCO play with
fabulous poise and point, adding to a powerful sense of reawakening
and rediscovery. It’s remarkable that even after all these years
this and the music of the Rondo-Burleske can still sound newly
minted; that’s rare - and most welcome - in a crowded and all-too-unvarying
field of Mahler 9s. In that respect this performance is a perfect
companion for the Fischer Fourth.

Nothing quite prepared me for Haitink’s view of the long, dissolving
finale; measured but never self-indulgent, despairing but not hysterical,
this Adagio ebbs and flows most beautifully. The orchestral
blend is as close to perfection as you’ll ever hear, and the
recording’s refulgent bass lowers the music’s centre of
gravity to telling effect; indeed, it’s an unforgettable sound
that brings to mind Sergiu Celibidache’s unique way with Bruckner.
As for the many epiphanies of this valedictory movement each and every
one is indescribably moving. At the end Haitink acknowledges a deep-ocean
swell of applause and affection. Typically self-effacing, he calls
on individual players to take a bow as well.

As superlative as Fischer’s Fourth is, this Ninth is in another
realm entirely. I doubt the RCO’s ageing conductor laureate
will ever frame a more authoritative account of this great work -
and it’s all captured in superb sound as well. Quite simply
this is the most complete and compelling performance of Mahler’s
Ninth I’ve ever encountered, as much a tribute to s great orchestra
as it is to a most distinguished and much-loved maestro.

An ‘almost is’ or a ‘never was’, whatever
one’s view of the Tenth it can - and often does - work
very well in the right hands. Simon Rattle’s Bournemouth and
Berlin recordings - both of which use Deryck Cooke’s completion
- are indispensable additions to the Mahler discography. I found Mark
Wigglesworth’s recent Melbourne CD somewhat variable - review
- but as far as I’m aware this RCO/Eliahu Inbal account is the
only Cooke Tenth on Blu-ray. That said, there’s a performance
of the Clinton Carpenter completion from Lan Shui and the admirable
Singapore Symphony on Avie. As for the professorial Inbal, I remember
what could have been a decent Mahler 2 at a City of London Festival
some years ago; sadly the cavernous acoustics of St Paul’s did
for the performance as surely as a stiletto between the ribs.

The Adagio of this Tenth goes quite well; Inbal is perhaps
more lyrical than intense, although those trumpet-topp’d tuttis
are mighty indeed. The recording copes well with these dynamic extremes,
and the sometimes gossamer-light string writing is especially well
caught. It’s only in the first Scherzo that the doubts
begin to surface; as much as I admire Cooke’s realisation of
Mahler’s sketches I find textures can sound threadbare, and
there are ill-concealed gear changes too. Perhaps it’s a result
of listening to all the symphonies and coming to this Tenth right
after the micrometer calibrations of Haitink’s Ninth that makes
the former sound somewhat rough and ready.

Then again Rattle is much more convincing in terms of echt-Mahlerian
sonorities and thrust than Inbal, so it’s not just about the
score. One has to remember Cooke’s is a ‘performing version’
and that means the conductor has to make far more interpretive decisions
than might otherwise be the case. That said, I find Inbal much to
brisk - and not a little brash - in the Purgatorio, whose many
seams are apt to gape. After the sheer discipline shown in the earlier
symphonies the RCO aren’t at their unanimous and sophisticated
best, either.

Alas, it doesn’t get any better; the second Scherzo grates
and even the dark elegy that is the Finale - complete with
dramatic drum thuds - is much less affecting than usual. Suffice to
say, if this performance were my introduction to Cooke’s - or
anyone else’s - Mahler I’d not be persuaded. Along with
the Harding First and Boulez’s Seventh this uneven and untidy
Tenth is eminently forgettable.

As Fabio Luisi doesn’t appear to have much of a history with
Mahler - on record at least - his Totenfeier
and Das Lied von der Erde are the wild cards in the
set. The former, a symphonic poem later reworked into the first movement
of the Second symphony, is a rare and entertaining oddity lasting
some 20 minutes. Unsuspecting listeners might think they’d stumbled
across an extremely brisk performance of the Resurrection;
in the event Totenfeier is an intriguing glimpse of a work
in progress. The skeleton is recognisable, but it’s fascinating
to hear how Mahler eventually fleshed it all out; even more instructive
is noting how sometimes small changes of scoring and dynamics transformed
this uneven fragment into its final, definitive shape.

On to Das Lied von der Erde, which opens with an impetuous
and none-too-subtle account of the drinking song. One can only sympathise
with Robert Dean Smith; not only does he have to deal with Mahler’s
taxing tessitura but he also has to struggle to make himself heard
above the orchestra. That said, his voice isn’t particularly
robust or distinctive, and there are audible - and visible - signs
that he’s not too comfortable here. As for Luisi, he has a jittery
podium manner that I find very distracting; also he wields his baton
like a rapier, bringing the song to a close with a murderous thrust.

This work really underlines the need for subtitles, as not all viewers
will be familiar with either the song titles or texts. The lack of
liner-notes means they don’t have printed versions to fall back
on either; unforgivable omissions on both counts. Back to the music,
and Anna Larsson, a seasoned Mahlerian, gives a strong if not very
insightful performance of Der Einsame im Herbst. Perhaps she’s
not always as secure as she once was, but she certainly has a pretty
good idea of how this song should go. I have misgivings about Luisi
though; he’s competent enough, but I don’t warm to his
Mahler ‘sound’ and I find him a tad anonymous at times.

Sadly, the same goes for our tenor in Von der Jugend; he still
doesn’t look or sound at ease, and the orchestral accompaniment
is woefully short on atmosphere. Larsson is just fine in Von der
Schönheit, although I sense Luisi isn’t listening to
his singers very carefully; indeed, there are times when it seems
soloist and conductor are working to a slightly different beat. Smith’s
pinched upper registers are even more apparent in Der Trunkene
im Frühling, and his lower ones aren’t very warm or
rounded either.

Larsson delivers an eloquent farewell, despite Luisi’s somewhat
mannered phrasing and odd rhythms. Generally I find this performance
- like the Harding First - too self-consciously ‘interpreted’.
In the most illuminating concerts - Fischer’s and Haitink’s
- the conductor seems to melt away and we come much closer to what
the composer intended. On the strength of this Das Lied von der
Erde I’m not at all convinced that Luisi is a front runner
in this repertoire. It’s a real pity that this otherwise splendid
set should conclude with such a disappointing disc.

So, if you want all the Mahler symphonies on Blu-ray and conveniently
packaged this RCO box is your only choice. If they were available
separately I’d happily acquire the stand-out performances -
Fischer’s Fourth, Gatti’s Fifth, Maazel’s Sixth,
Jansons’ Eighth and Haitink’s Ninth - and that would be
pricier than the entire set. That said, there are aspects of presentation
that need to be addressed. I’ve already grumbled about the lack
of on-screen captions, credits and subtitles, but I have to say the
visuals leave something to be desired as well. The pictures are sharp
and the colours are true, but there are some jerky pans and ill-judged
close-ups that are very distracting. Also, in some of the concerts
the applause ends rather abruptly, with no attempt at a clean or elegant
fade. Finally, framing is an issue at times, with weird, disembodied
shots of conductors’ arms and hands; the effect is disconcerting,
and it looks very amateurish.